


Grasp

by micehell



Series: ROTJ retelling [4]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Drama, M/M, references to previous rapes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-04
Updated: 2012-04-04
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:56:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Han had always known several things about himself.  He hated the dark.  He hated being alone.  And he hated assholes who thought they could control him by playing on his fears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grasp

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, lots of notes:  
> 1) This is really old in a way. It was from the rewrite of ROTJ that I was doing back in April 2007 (ye gods!). I'd had it in the slush pile of old fic I'd kept. Which leads to the second note...  
> 2) So I took this out and dusted it off, but then I wasn't going to put it up since a) not many of you would even remember this series at this point, or even care if they did, and b) there's no telling when the next story would be out (after all, it's been five years since the last one), and even though I'd always said these would be standalones just so there wouldn't be any obligation to go on, well, that's still a long time between parts. *snork*  
> 3) But then I decided wth, just in case there was someone that wanted it, here you go. So, yes, there's still a chance the series will get finished, and technically I guess it still stands alone, but read at your own risk anyway

Grasp ( _verb used with an object_ ): to hold, to master, to understand.

He was alone; no troopers kicking him around, no monsters fucking him over. Yeah, he was naked and cold, and his broken wrist was vying with his ass to see which one hurt the most, none of which was letting him get any rest, but he was alone. It was over. He could just put it behind him, like he always had before.

Except it wasn't over. Because no matter how alone he was in the empty cell, there was still something in him that he couldn't be rid of, no matter how much he tried. Han could still hear Vader's voice in his head ( _You will learn to accept me as your master. You will learn_ ), could still feel his impersonally malicious touch in every line of his aching body, and he didn't think any of it would fade until the thing in his head that wasn't him went away.

As cold as the cell was, as strong as his fear was, eventually the need to sleep (to hide) won out and Han slept. Oddly it wasn’t the pain or the cold that woke him up. It wasn’t even the feeling of being constantly watched that was tied to whatever Vader had done to his head. It was the _absence_ of it.

Han had always been a light sleeper (life teaching him very early on just how dangerous it was to truly sleep), so he wasn’t confused when he woke up. He knew where he was (a cold, empty cell on Vader’s ship), how he was (naked, hurt, scared), and who the man standing over him was, as well. Or rather who the man standing over him had been, at any rate.

It probably should have freaking him out more than it did that a dead man was in the cell with him, but by that point in his life, Han wasn’t going to quibble over ghosts. Not when there were greater monsters around.

The fact that he could tell that Obi-Wan was really there (kind of blue and translucent, but really there) maybe should have freaked him out, too, but Han could also tell that it was Obi-Wan that was keeping the presence in his head at bay, and he was too happy at feeling vaguely human again to care that he owed it to a dead guy.

He _was_ a little confused over how he should react. Did you have to stand up when dead people came and helped you out, or was it better to keep the whole naked thing at least a little under wraps by staying in the fetal curl you’d adopted against the cold and pain? Was there some special way to address a dead Jedi Master, or did he just keep calling him Old Man like he had before he was dead and all? Or maybe Dead Man, instead? In the end, all Han could think to say (really wanted to say) was, “Thanks.”

Obi-Wan didn’t pretend he didn’t know why Han was thanking him, but he looked rueful all the same. "You're welcome, though I wish I could do more, but…" he shrugged.

Even with the kind of blue light and faint translucence that surrounded him, Obi-Wan’s shrug (something Han had never seen him do while alive) made him seem solid and living in a way that Han was sure was an illusion. Or a delusion, maybe. It had been a hard couple of days, and maybe this was the first sign that he was cracking. Not that Han really cared at the moment whether he’d finally cracked or not, happy enough at being alone in his head and at being some kind of not alone in the cell, so he shrugged the thought off, inadvertently copying Obi-Wan, which made him laugh. He certainly hadn’t been that much in synch with the old charlatan while he’d been alive, but figment of his imagination or not, Obi-Wan was at least a welcome distraction.

Deciding that sitting up would make him feel more in control, he laughed when Obi-Wan wound up mirroring him this time. For a while they just sat there side by side, backs to one cold wall, looking across the empty cell to another cold wall, Han’s dried blood and darkening bruises and Obi-Wan’s faint glow the only real color against the white that surrounded them. But there was only so long Han could be quiet even in the best of times, and this certainly didn’t qualify as that.

“Why?” It was more than a little vague as far as questions went, but Han couldn’t quite articulate all the things he needed to know that were running around his head, and he was pretty sure that Obi-Wan didn’t really need him to.

Obi-Wan leaned closer, no warmth coming from the shoulder right next to Han’s, but a wealth of it in the option for denial he offered. “Do you truly want to know?”

Han wasn’t sure if he’d like the answers he’d get, but listening to the not-quite-there guy was still better than listening to his own thoughts.

He’d known from the beginning that Riekan and the others would be scrambling to change their codes, their bases, trying to make the knowledge that Han had of the Alliance obsolete as quickly as they could. Han didn’t even blame him for that. But it would leave them with little time to come up with rescue plans, and no matter how much Chewie whined, or how much Luke did for that matter, it wouldn’t make a difference in the end. Even Leia, if she’d gotten free, wouldn’t have enough power to set the Alliance to looking for one slightly suspect former smuggler, especially when they’d be able to guess that he was a prisoner of the second most powerful person in the Empire. Maybe even _the_ most power one. No matter how he looked at it, Han was on his own, and one more than slightly abused former smuggler didn’t have much of a chance here without information.

“Tell me.”

Han could tell Obi-Wan glossed over a lot of it, but then it was a lot to take in even with that. Training bonds and all that mystical mumbo jumbo was bad enough, the idea that Han himself was on the other end of one was more than he could process at the moment.

“So… what, I’m supposed to be his student, like Luke was to you.”

“Yes,” and then after a pause, “And no, not exactly. I trained Luke because he had to be trained, but there wasn’t a bond. There was barely even time for me to cover the basics, forget getting into that. But what’s between you and Vader, that’s somewhat like the bond between my master and I.”

Which actually just made the whole thing more confusing to Han, since Obi-Wan sounded pretty fond of _his_ master. “So beating the crap out of me and fucking me, that’s part of this, too?”

Obi-Wan looked horrified, like he had after Alderaan. And maybe a touch appalled by Han’s frankness, but that just meant he hadn’t been paying attention back when he’d still been alive. But while the old man might have been sly and crafty back then, he’d never been stupid and hadn’t started now that he was dead, so he recovered before Han could say anything else, waggling a not-there hand in equivocation. “Yes and, again, no. The bond itself is neither good nor bad, it just is. However, he might feel drawn to you because of it, so that might translate into sexual feeling.”

Han was sure there was a story in that ‘might translate into sexual feeling’, at least from Obi-Wan’s side, but he was pretty sure that for Vader that wasn’t it, or not completely. Sure, he knew he was good-looking. He took a certain amount of pride in it, even when it sometimes made life difficult. But living the life he’d had before he met Chewie… well, you couldn’t do that and not come across some bad times; a group of pirates looking for a little action, slavers thinking he was an easy mark (and being all too sadly right). It had sometimes meant a swim in bacta, always meant some bad dreams and shaky hand before he’d got it under control again. But it had never, not even at its most violent, been as impersonal as what Vader had done to him. It hadn’t even seemed to be about power or anger, let alone sex. Maybe not even about Han himself, really, so much as something that Vader thought… he needed to do.

And maybe he said that out loud, or maybe Obi-Wan was doing more mystical crap in some way, because he hesitated a moment, but then finally said, “I knew him well, once, but that was long ago. I certainly can’t guess all of his reasons now.”

Han rolled his eyes, irritated by the evasion he could hear in Obi-Wan’s voice, and by the secret Obi-Wan was still trying to keep even after being dead and all. It made him a little sharper than he’d meant to be when he asked, “So you didn’t have a training bond with Vader, then? I’m guessing you had more time to train him than you did Luke after all.”

Even without having blood anymore, Obi-Wan paled a little at that. “You figured it out, then?”

“That he was your student? Yeah. He called you master back on the Death Star. Luke might not have heard him, ‘cause we were pretty far away when the whole…” Han trailed off, wondering if he should be diplomatic here, but then he wondered why he should start now of all times. “When the whole him killing you thing happened, but Chewie has really good ears. Plus… some of the things he said while he was… well, some of the things he said to me, anyway, I was pretty sure that he’d been your student.”

Obi-Wan seemed to flicker for a moment, a much younger man’s face shining through, looking worried and uncertain in a way the older version never showed. But then he shook it off, settling back into the familiar lines that spoke of a wealth of hard-gained knowledge. He finally said, “Yes, I was Vader’s… _Anakin’s_ master.”

The emphasis on Obi-Wan being Anakin’s master rather than Vader’s could have just been Obi-Wan’s way of denial, trying to distance himself from the damage that Vader had done (would keep on doing), but Han guessed that the uncertain look he’d seen on Obi-Wan’s younger face was probably because, for all the evil Vader had done, his master couldn’t help remember this _Anakin_ as he’d been before. It was something Han understood well, ‘cause even years later, Han could still remember the good times he’d had when he’d been back in the Corellian troop, regardless of the fact he also could remember what fucking bastards they’d been before it was all over.

As if resigning himself to talk about things he didn’t want to, Obi-Wan sighed. “From what he would have seen as a child before he came to the Jedi, and from what he did … after he was my apprentice, let us say, I would guess that he’s using rape as a means to break you down. Not just to subjugate you, or even, in a perverse way, to bind you even closer than the training bond does, though neither of those would… be beyond him.”

Han could almost have laughed at how careful Obi-Wan was being; trying to tell Han what he needed to know, but still shying away from any mention of what Vader had done _after_ he was Obi-Wan’s apprentice. Han guessed it might be easier to avoid talking about it when you weren’t buck naked, blood and bruises visible for everyone to see. Even the dead, apparently.

“I would say he wants to break you down as much as he can so that he can build you up again in the image he chooses; his perfect apprentice.”

Obi-Wan had been comparing the bond Han and Vader had to the one he’d had with his master, but Han hadn’t really taken it on board before. Now it was hitting him that this wasn’t just something that was going to be over quickly; Vader had long range plans for him. He shook his head, trying to make the thoughts sink in and make sense. “So, wait, he’s _seriously_ going to take me as a student? Really? Like you did with Luke?”

That earned him a raised eyebrow, but Han waved it away. “Obviously I didn’t mean his _training_ methods were the same, but I’m just me… I’m not…” he trailed off, thinking back over his life. All the things he’d always just accepted and never wondered at before, like the luck he was so famous for, or all those moments of intuition that others found uncanny. Even the way he’d known when Vader was coming, and how he could, to some degree, sense what he was feeling. If his one hand hadn’t been broken and the other one sore from hitting at Vader’s armor, he’d have smacked himself in the head as he sighed out, “Fuck, I’m a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan's lips quivered, obviously fighting a smile. It wasn't a funny situation, really, but Han couldn't help but finally give in and laugh anyway, which just set Obi-Wan to laughing. It was probably a touch of hysteria, but Han felt better when it was over. He didn't feel quite as good when Obi-Wan said, “Not a Jedi, but certainly Force sensitive. Something I was far too blind to while I was alive, sadly. Missing the better traits of… somewhat irritating people is too often a fault of mine, I'm afraid.”

Poking fun at Han while admitting that he’d screwed up, and Han could see mischief in Obi-Wan’s eyes, something he’d never have imagined in the old man. It was like getting a peek behind the mask he’d always seemed to wear. “Were you always like this and I missed it?”

“Like what?” Obi-Wan asked it like he was truly curious, so maybe the peek hadn’t been as much intentional as it was the man’s true nature no longer held so carefully in check.

“You're… well, funny. Lighter than I remember. You came off like a charlatan when I first met you, so obviously venerable and wise and all that other garbage, that you just had to know it was mostly an act. Was it all a fake?

Obi-Wan didn’t try to hide the smile this time, nor the mischief clear on his face. He waggled his hand again, admitting, “Not a fake, as such. I am quite venerable and wise.” He arched his brow, daring Han to disagree. “And I'm sorry, but I'm often quite serious, too. I just… hid it a little for Luke. He needed to believe in me, believe in what I was teaching him. He needed to see only the wise man, not the fallible human underneath. Nor his odd sense of humor.”

The implication being that he could show Han the human underneath. Maybe because Han wasn’t as young and gullible as Luke. Maybe because Obi-Wan had more in common with Han than he’d had with Luke.

Han had thought the rape had been almost impersonal, really, Vader’s mind on something besides what he was doing, and obviously on someone else as well, if what Vader had said was anything to go by. But now Han wondered if maybe it had meant more to Vader than it seemed. “Maybe part of it really was because I remind him of you in some ways.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “I don’t understand.”

“Vader talked about you during… well, during. He kept comparing us.”

There was another flicker, and then the younger Obi-Wan was there again, eyes wide and devastated. “I'm sorry.”

Han laughed, but this time it wasn’t in amusement. “For getting raped? Because the bastard remembered it? Because he compared the two of us?”

Obi-Wan seemed to have settled into his younger self now. Pretty where there older version had only been wise-looking, and far too young to inspire the feelings of competence and safety the old man seemed to project in some way. However much Vader had warped what had likely been Anakin’s affection (maybe even love) for his master into something dark and violent, Han could certainly see where the affection had sprung from. Obi-Wan didn’t seem to notice that he’d changed, apparently far too fascinated by his hands as he answered, “For not having stopped him when I could. For not seeing that you were Force sensitive. For not being more of a help to you now.”

That was why Han had never wanted anything to do with stupid old time religions (which were old time for a reason, after all) or the Jedi or any of that crap, because the believers always felt like everything in the galaxy was their doing, either good or bad. And while Han wouldn't mind the preening that went with thinking he'd been the reason behind some of the good parts, he'd just as soon pass on the thought that he should be able to do everything, see everything, control everything to the point that anything that went wrong was his fault. He snorted. “Unless this guilt trip is going to get me out of here, it's kind of wasted.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “So it is. And, of course, a good Jedi lets go of his negative emotions and learns from his mistakes.” He tilted his head, the hint of mischief back in his smile. “You’ll make a fine Jedi, considering you already seem to grasp that point well. It was something Anakin struggled with even before he became Vader.”

That last part was like a splash of cold water over Han. That bastard, Vader, thought he was going to train Han, to make him over into whatever Vader wanted. Well fuck that. Han wasn't exactly a font of virtues, but he'd be damned if he was going to be the evil villain either.

Ever since he’d been a whelp in the ship’s crèche, and Kemy used to throw him in a dark hold when he was angry, Han had known several things about himself. He hated the dark. He hated being alone. And he hated assholes who thought they could control him by playing on his fears. Vader wanted to fuck with him, literally even, to break him down? Well, he'd see who was fucked.

The spark of defiance wavered when he felt Vader again. Getting close enough that not even whatever Obi-Wan was doing was enough to keep the stupid bond at bay. Han could feel something that was almost anger, almost joy, all twisted together into a hard knot, incapable of being separated, and he didn’t even have to be a Jedi to guess what Vader had planned. Not even realizing he was doing it, he tried to back away from the approaching danger, but he already had a hard wall at his back and nowhere to turn. Not even to the man beside him, already growing dimmer.

Obi-Wan reached out, translucent hand ghosting over Han’s broken one, the dimming face still visible enough for Han to see his regret. “If he sees me here, I might not be able to help later. He might….” Obi-Wan trailed off.

Han didn’t want to go through what was coming alone. He didn’t want to be in this tiny cell, alone in the dark with a monster that wasn’t just childish imagination, helpless to stop Vader from doing anything he damn well wanted. But he’d hate it more if Obi-Wan couldn’t keep the implied promise of coming back, of being there after Vader had left. Han would definitely hate that more. “Go.”

Not even a hint of Obi-Wan remained in the room when Vader entered the cell, even Han’s thoughts doing their best to shy away from him. Because Han was going to get trained one way or another, and he wasn't foolish enough to believe that he could hold out against Vader forever. Not alone.

So while Vader started to break him down piece by piece, Han fought and kicked and screamed and carefully didn’t look at the little shred of hope he was desperately holding on to. Because regardless of what Vader wanted (or the damned bond for that matter), it was still up to Han just which master he was going to choose to follow.

/this bit


End file.
